


Companions

by allonsytastic



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, a hint of emotional awkwardness, a tad of ridiculous plotline, also a surprising amount of serious introspection, and clara being insulted by an unfortunate paradox, just two characters stumbling into fanfiction about themselves, should probably be tagged as crack, with a dash of mutual pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-09 23:39:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8918035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allonsytastic/pseuds/allonsytastic
Summary: "Don't tell me the mighty Doctor will be defeated by  that word. Make it your own, Doctor! Language is forever changing, words aren't any less vulnerable to the tidings of time than you and I. Right now - every moment of this, of whatever we're doing here - this is where we decide what Companion actually means."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So in case you're wondering about the setting... What I was imagining is the Doctor and Clara landing within _this very piece_ of writing. Basically, think of the following text as if it was written onto the ground (on an area such as that of a football field) with the font size turned up to 9000 and the Doctor and Clara walking across.
> 
> The "dancing" analogy is borrowed from Nine and some of the lines were inspired by a movie called "Stranger than fiction".
> 
> I hope you'll have as much fun with this experiment as I had :)

The Doctor crosses the threshold of the TARDIS, curious as to where the _randomizer_ setting has dropped them off this time. He turns on his heels, taking in his surroundings, but - honestly - there's not too much to be taken in. They've landed in what appears to be some kind of desert enclosed in a range of dunes.

At second glance he realizes that there isn't actually any sand, salt, rocks or whatever deserts usually consist of. He's been to a desert made entirely of jelly babies once, but there are none of those to be found here, either. _Too bad_.

Instead, it turns out they've set down on a smooth ivory-like plane. Tentatively running his fingertips over the surface, he feels himself reminded of the cool, metallic touch of the TARDIS control panel.

Just as he turns to see if Clara has followed him out of the TARDIS yet, something in the corner of his eye catches his attention. The ground - which had been a monochromatic surface up until now - has started flickering. Blurry black shapes are forming and shifting about within the plane. As he observes them, the shapes are coming into focus and he realizes that they're assimilating into letters. Huge letters to be precise, considering that the words

_"Too bad."_

\- which just appeared in front of his feet - are about as long as his compact companion is tall.

All around, letters and words are rushing over the plane, appearing here and there. If you look closely, you can make out a text beginning to form, enormous black letters coalescing on the floor right beneath the Doctor's feet. He steps off of a capital " _D_ " and turns so as to get a perspective of the writing. "Well that's a first. _Can't say I've ever been this immersed in a story._ "

He takes a few steps, strolling along the surface and coming to a sudden halt when he makes out the words that have popped up on the ground seconds ago:

_"Can't say I've ever been this immersed in a story."_

"Clara?" he looks around to find his companion with an expression akin to his own puzzled frown.

"Doctor?"

"Suppose we had landed in a kind of Clara-Doctor-centered narrative..." he hesitates, seemingly grasping for a description "... potentially a textually formed-out, definite prediction of our current actions and immediate future..."

"Story of my life", Clara injects with a theatrically exaggerated sigh.

The Doctor continues undeterred: "...and I asked you for a random word to check whether your choice will be correctly predicted in this text - what would that word be?"

She considers him for a moment with a playful glint in her eyes, a grin slowly spreading across her face until she offers him a single word:

_"Idiot"_

He raises an eyebrow at her but remains silent. Checking the writing on the floor - which has now become a consistent text in the form of a row of paragraphs laid out below them - the Doctor nods solemnly upon finding their ongoing conversation - including the aformentioned expression -  protocoled at his feet. "Well _, whoever's in charge here seems to agree with you."_

"Clara, we have to be very careful now. We're _inside_ our own narrative." His voice has lowered to a whisper though there appears to be no one around to overhear them. Also, his intonation seems to have gone even more Scottish. Clara can't help the small smile that appears on her face. There really shouldn't be something so entirely endearing about him when he goes full-on Caledonian, but there _is_.

"These words on the floor, they seem to be an exact protocol of events." the Doctor continues, realizing that: _No, it's not only a protocol of events, but also thoughts. This thought, to be precise. This thought is probably written out somewhere down the story. And this one. And whatever thought comes next._

At this insight, he immediately resolves to stop _any_ Clara-related daydreaming for the duration of this adventure and focus on the task at hand. Judging by the look of sudden realization she gives him, Clara seems to have made a similar connection. The expression vanishes as soon as it appeared, though, and is replaced by a skeptical squint.

"Yeah, I got that. And by extension, that would mean that our immediate future is laid out - _written down_ \- right over there"

"Yes."

"Doctor, honestly, I think I lost count of how often you've crossed _and even changed_ your own time line. How is this any different?"

"Because this time, Clara, I'm not entirely certain I'm the one in control of events"

"Trust me, you rarely are" Clara adds with a smirk.

 

* * *

 

"Doctor, there are errors all over the place. Look, that comma right there, that's awfully placed. Plus the tempus of the story keeps changing. Not exactly Shakespeare, is it?"

"Seems a bit narcissistic, don't you think? Expecting _your_ narrative to be on par with one of the greatest playwrights your civilization ever brought to the universe?"

"That is definitely the least doctor-y thing you said today. Literally the opposite of your entire _modus operandi_."

He raises an eyebrow at her (again) but resolves to remain silent (again), not taking the bait.

 

* * *

 

They're walking along in silence, as the Doctor suddenly spots a line of text that piques his interest. "Look Clara, **_they're calling you 'tiny', too_**. I knew there was no fault in my sense of proportion!"

"I'm telling you, what's definitely faulty is you sense of _propriety_. Where does it say that anyway?"

The Doctor points to the ground right in front of her feet, at the words that declare in (as if to mock her further) big, bold letters:

**_"they're calling you 'tiny', too"_ **

"Hang on, that's what _you_ said, not some unreliable narrator! Don't try to put this on _them._ " Clara's eyes have grown to narrow slits and as far as the Doctor can tell, the stance she's adopted is not one out of the 'contentment'- category.

"But you see, Clara, it _wasn't_ me! I only mentioned it because I'd _read_ it. It was there already, laid out word for word down there on the ground. Don't try to argue with a paradox, Clara. I tried it once and almost got myself regenerated."

She ponders his response. "Fair enough. But don't think you're off the hook just yet. And anyways, is ' _tiny_ ' really the best you could come up with? Not exactly the most creative description", the _miniscule_ Englishwoman adds, her reply directed at both the Doctor and me - the omniscient author.

A moment of silence passes as Clara reads on.

" _'Miniscule_ '? Are you serious?"

The Doctor entirely fails to stifle his laugh.

 

* * *

 

They settle on travelling upwards, towards the beginning of the story, because the Doctor's decided that downwards would be too risky - knowing your own future and all. Clara, meanwhile, tries to keep her mind and thoughts in check... if they _do_ happen to end up travelling the other way, she certainly doesn't want the Doctor (literally) stumbling upon an unguarded strain of thought.

Her feelings regarding the Doctor are way too muddled and incoherent to be written up and the prospect of him glimpsing beneath the protective surface she has carefully constructed around her innermost emotions - catching fragments at random and out of context - is terrifying.

The Doctor is the most complex being she has ever encountered, and her feelings for him are just as intricate, impossible to grasp or put into words. This is more than the captivating flutter of a crush, more than romance-novel adoration, infinitely more than can be conveyed with a single word.

Being with the Doctor is no longer a choice. As light-hearted as they can be around each other, Clara knows that they have become interdependent - neither of them daring to risk the status quo by moving ahead beyond friendship. Both of them terrified of what a single step out of this metastable state of their relationship could propel.

It's not just what she thinks of his smile, and his curls that are _just on the right side of messy_ and his elegant, slender hands. It is the concept of _The Doctor_ , the restless man driven by uncontrollable love of life, by compassion and curiosity. It's the core of his identity, the very _idea_ of him. All that he encompasses, the appreciation of life in all its forms - the awe in the face of creation, the capability of mercy in the face of malevolence. It's the inevitable, desperate _need_ to be, to experience and to share the beauty of the universe.

And as Clara comes to this conclusion, it strikes her that this is exactly the thing she _just_ resolved not to think about. Lost in her own thoughts she all but stumbles over the Doctor, who's stopped dead in his tracks in the middle of the way, seemingly having caught sight of an unexpected line of writing.

He slowly turns to face her, contemplating her for a moment before hesitantly addressing her:

"Clara, why does this story tag us as... ' _Companions'_?"

"Well we are, aren't we? Companions?"

"Clara, you don't understand. I'm not talking of companions,..." he pauses momentously and reluctantly adds the following words with careful emphasis, his gaze fixating, evaluating and yet unusually insecure: " _..._ but of _'Companions' -_ the _dancing_ kind."

"Oh."

Without waiting for more of an answer the Doctor turns on his heels and strides down the narrative, passing paragraph after paragraph at an alarming speed. Clara tries to save her dignity by overloading the story with sentence upon sentence of random information so as to bury her potentially revealing stream of thought from earlier beneath heaps of irrelevant gibberish. And since she'll never come anywhere near the Doctor's rambling skills, she decides to recount the first thing that comes to her mind. Which - unsurprisingly - happens to be Jane Austen.

"So, Doctor, did you know that it is a truth universally acknowledged..."

 

* * *

 

 

The Doctor is rushing down their storyline now, driven by his desperate _need_ to know; a need that barely outweights the dread of a potentially devastating revelation.

 _Companions._ That's a good thing, right? He's never sure with these human concepts, especially not in this regeneration. Human terminology can be so hard to grasp, definitions ever-shifting, meanings twisting and inverting with context and inflection.

This last regeneration has been hard on him. Sometimes he feels like the universe itself has regenerated all around him; notions that were once familiar and comforting now foreign and confusing:

 ** _Never cruel or cowardly._** Except for when it comes to Clara, where cowardice takes over and forces his hand. He's committed unthinkable deeds, has found himself capable of horrendous transgression at even the slightest threat to his _Companion_. Without thinking, he sidesteps each and every rule he ever set for himself, compelled to keep her alive - keep her _safe_. Protecting her has become his imperative, it's more of a reflex than a decision at this point. And he _knows_ that she is not some damsel in distress, _knows_ that she can fend for herself just fine - but he's seen humans die _over_ and _over_ , seen countless deaths beyond his control and he cannot shake off the fear - cannot shake off the sheer terror - that the thought of losing her has anchored in his hearts.

Any change of state is a risk.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I won't let us be defined by a single word"_

The Doctor's come to halt just below the start of the second chapter, allowing Clara to finally catch up with him.

"This is it. _Event_ _Horizon_." the Doctor points out. "This is as far as we got -the paragraph describing what's happening right now, at this moment. What lies beyond is anyone's guess."

Clara can see it in his eyes, how he wants nothing more than to skip this tricky bit. Skip the talking and keep on running. It seems too easy, almost. _Just take a stroll down the story and read ahead. See how it turns out. Don't actually confront each other about the (space-) elephant in the room._

Only that isn't how she wants this to play out. The value of anything can be measured by the torment endured to obtain it. And as _this_ is the premier part of her narrative, she's prepared to take a stand. Not so the Doctor. For him it seems to be the opposite. From what Clara has seen of him over their time travelling, she's learned that the more personal the cause, the farther he runs.

And yet, there he is, still standing right next to her.

 

* * *

 

 

There's an intensity to him now. He can feel it - every neuron in his enourmous mind is signaling. The farthest outposts of his nervous system are going ballistic. His consciousness is being overloaded with a crossfire of contradicting desires swirling though his head.

 He catches Clara's weary glance over his shoulder and guesses its meaning. She's looking at the next paragraph, the continuation of their story. And judging from his track record she's expecting him to make a run for it any second.

"I'm not sure what would happen if I did, Clara. This story has proven to be quite linear, temporally. So I can't just go skipping ahead, you see? It's another paradox. My skipping ahead would in itself be part of the narrative and I could end up creating a time loop."

Clara's eyes betray her confusion, prompting him to elaborate:

"This story can't progress without our cooperation. _We are the story._ I can't risk skipping ahead."

She looks at him intently and he stares right back, showing no inclination of turning around and running. The Doctor's never been one to let the universe tell him what can and can't be done and Clara knows as much. Him staying right here next to her is more than damage control This is him taking a stand - _deciding not to run_. And being the Doctor, he can't even admit that to himself but has to come up with an excuse to stay.

 

* * *

 

 

 Clara decides to finally cross the invisible line neither of them has dared to pass over since his regeneration, both anticipating and terrified of how he will respond: "Don't think I'm not terrified. Don't just assume that you're the only one who cares here. Because I'm telling you, I'm just as scared of losing you as you are."

"I can't promise you that it won't hurt, Doctor, because it will. But I can promise you one thing: It will have been worth it. This is not the whole story." She points to the letters on the ground all around their feet and then at themselves "We're more than a couple of lines scattered on a plain surface. Look at us. We're the luckiest people in all of time and space..."

"... and I won't let myself - and us - be defined by a single word. _Companions_ _._ What does that one word even mean? Sidekick? - Colleague? - Associate? - Counterpart? - Mate? - Partner? Don't tell me the mighty Doctor will be defeated by _that word._ Make it your own! Language is forever changing, words aren't any less vulnerable to the tidings of time than you and I. Right now - every moment of this, of whatever we're doing here - this is where we decide what _Companion_ actually means."

Clara is left breathless. She's put everything into these words, leaving herself entirely at his mercy. She's faced some of the most horrifying species the universe has to offer but never in her life has she felt quite as vulnerable as she does in this exact moment.

The Doctor has grown quiet, contemplative. His eyes never left Clara's during her appeal and now that it's his turn, he's lost for words. For all the words there are in the world, none can replicate the feeling of being around her. There is no language anywhere or anytime in the universe to adequeately describe the entirety of what Clara means to him.

And then he realizes that there doesn't have to be. Because she's right. He's let himsef be intimidated by a word - caged by the perceived limitations of a randomly defined sequence of consonants and vowels. How could he define his attachment with words, when all that those words would do is impose borders and rules?

And so he takes two steps forward, slowly closing the distance between them. He's near enough to hear her catching her breath - looking at her with all of his defenses torn down, his adoration clearly written in his face. For a moment, neither of them move. Then he slowly closes his arms around her, resting his cheek on her head. For once, the migty Doctor stops thinking - stops the cogs that are endlessly whirring in his head - stops questioning himself and instead holds on tight, pouring all his love and care into this moment, into this hug.

He's solved the mystery of her duplicates, but he hasn't solved the enigma that is Clara Oswald herself. Neither does he want to. Because the most captivating mysteries are those that are too beautiful to be solved.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not entirely sure whether I managed to avoid including any logical errors. If you find any, let me know :)  
> After all, we can't risk Clara or the Doctor falling down a plothole ;)
> 
> Either way, thanks for reading!


End file.
